Week of the Broken
by Suzume Jun
Summary: After living for so long and enduring so much it seems almost comical that it would be something so small that broke them in the end. England and Norway posted, five others to follow later.
1. Perfect Sunday

**Week of the Broken**

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Summary: After living for so long and enduring so much it seems almost comical that it would be something so small that broke them in the end. England,

Warning: passing mentions of abuse and drinking, implied suicide, and the occasional swear word.

Chapter one: Prefect Sunday

Glass shatters, papers fly, frames break, the phone will need replacing (again), tea sets smash as Arthur destroys his office to bits for some infinite number he lost track of a few centuries ago. Destroying simply because he wants to. Simply because he _needed_ to get it all out before the pain killed him. He screams not because he wants to or needs to. He screams himself so hoarse he won't be able to talk for days not out of some twisted definition of fun but simply because he _CAN._ He cries so hard he can't see through the tears simply because everything has become too much and he is no longer strong enough to deal with it. Because no matter how much he destroys or screams or cries there is no one there to stop him…

…No one there to save him.

And when he collapses sobbing in the middle of the destruction clinging to a de-framed beat up picture of his four older brothers as if it's his only lifeline he decides he's had enough.

It was Sunday.

Sunday was supposed to be a family day. The twins come over from Ireland and ALL of them hung out together after church. Yet somehow…

…. They always managed to leave him behind.

He had lost track of the many times and ways they had left him to a Sunday afternoon alone destroying his office. This time hurt the worst though and he was fed up and just done with it all in general.

It was Sunday.

Since it had fallen on a Sunday Arthur had thought they would at least tell him 'Happy Birthday' before abandoning him to his own violent nature while they went out and had fun together. Why did he even bother hoping? No one had remembered his birthday in decades, why would they now? Why would that change? The sun had set on the British Empire long ago so he had no colonies to fuss over it. All of his politicians didn't care as long as they got what they wanted (Besides the Royal Family but he can't remember the last time they had noticed the date either). He didn't have any friends because he spent so much of his time doing the work of four nations and bailing his brothers out of whatever situations they find themselves in (His attitude didn't help his case either but it's a stressful thing getting yelled at by his bosses because though he goes to these meetings he can't report anything of interest and most of the people here have abandoned him long ago anyway so why should he try to be what they want when it doesn't even matter to them?). So no one but his brothers would even bother to remember. Not that they did.

It was Sunday.

He had checked his phone to make sure everyone was still meeting after church, got dressed, sat through mass, socialized a bit, and went home so he could be there when his brothers showed up…

…Only to see them already stoned in a pub on the way. And they were loudly complaining about him…

…_again_.

No matter how hard he tried to be perfect it just wasn't good enough.

**HE** wasn't good enough.

Continuing on home anyway he checks his answering machine to see that all four of them had cancelled on him again. Maybe this time he would call their bluff. They had been stoned in a pub not at their houses with the flu. No. It wasn't worth it. The physical and verbal abuse that would follow doing such a thing wasn't needed. The emotional was a little more than he could stand right now anyway thank you very much. Besides, he was done with all this shit.

Crumbling the photo in his hand but not letting go of it he reaches for his lighter that had ended up near him and flicked on the flame. He was done with it all, so he was going to burn it all down.

It was Sunday…

… And Arthur was done trying to be perfect.


	2. Escaping Monday

Escaping Monday

Blood dripped from the open wound that would close itself far too soon for the Norwegian's tastes. Pain washing everything from mind if only for a short time.

The stress

The hopelessness

The fear

The cold

The hurt

The sense of not belonging

The never ending darkness…

None of it would stay attached to him when he created enough pain. So that's exactly what he did.

What started out as tightly clenched fists turned into scratching over the years. The scratching had later slowly evolved into cutting. However every once in a while, on the darkest coldest nights in Norway, Lukas burned himself. But that only happened when he was feeling desperate for an escape and none of his other more used methods were working. For a cold country that had spent most of his life at war and trying to find warmer weather the fire brought back memories better left buried deep in the back of his mind if not forgotten completely and the brutal scorching heat felt wrong against his skin. Not that any of this mattered.

No one noticed anyway. To busy in their own little worlds to notice that his own had crumbled long ago.

Today was by far the worst though.

Not even sticking his hand into that lit fireplace of his was enough today.

Today was Monday.

Over the last week he had searched, bought, made, and wrapped five presents. The task made harder by the need to keep all activity secret from the other Nordics who always seemed to choose the worst times to be all-present.

Today was Monday.

Today he had finished the last finishing touches on his gifts and snuck over to Finland's house careful not to be seen (Using the help of his Fae of course). Today he had placed those five packages under the tree as Denmark was out drinking, Iceland was over at Sven's house with said Swedish country and Sealand, and Finland was making his rounds as Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Julenissen… or whoever supposedly brought the children of that specific country their gifts. Today two out of the five Nordics were not where they were supposed to be.

Today was Monday.

Today Lukas had just finished placing his gifts, unmarked as to who the sender was as always, when he had to hide from Denmark and Iceland who had just entered the house. Today Norway was forced to bare witness to his lover and younger brother being involved with each other intimately. Today the Norwegian felt a self hatred worse than any he had felt before.

Today was Monday.

Lukas stands staring at the two Nordics, shattering behind his ever present mask of emotionlessness. Ice sees him first, his violet eyes going wide in shock and guilt. He doesn't push Denmark away or move to hide and make excuses. They both know it would be futile even if he had. The Dane however doesn't feel that way at all. Looking at the Norwegian who is already edging towards the door he smiles. Not seeing anything wrong with the current situation.

Today was Monday.

"Come join in Nor." Denmark says motioning to Norwegian closer as he pulls away from Iceland. Shaky hands move up and close around the cross barrette in said Nordic's hair. Denmark falters slightly at the ice cold silence and the sight of his Norway fingering the symbol of his ownership as if he were debating taking it off, his smile beginning to turn into a sneer that Lukas knew all to well from the days of the Kalmar Union. "What's the matter Nor?" He snarls, sitting up and going to stand, "Did pathetic little Norge actually think he could be enough for me?" The older Nordic nation asks mockingly. Iceland watches eyes wide and frozen in fear, confused at what was happening mostly due to the others sheltering him during the time when Norway's relationship with his older brother wasn't exactly safe.

Today was Monday.

Tears forming in his eyes Lukas yanks the barrette from his hair and chucks it at his older brother who catches it then clenches his fist around it so tight the cross snaps. "You actually thought that didn't you?" The Dane laughs had Norway not been all too familiar with the ice cold warning that his older brother and once again ex-lover was about to strike he probably would have felt terrified and fled. But he is and so he simply stands there and takes the truths dripping like poisoned honey from the lips he was idiotic enough to once again believe had changed. Not wanting the fury to be aimed at Iceland just because of the Norwegian's own incompetent failure to please.

Today was Monday.

Iceland runs out the door as Denmark raises his hand to strike. Insults and mockery hurting Lukas worse than the slap that puts the taste of blood into his mouth and makes his neck snap sideways from the impact. After a while the door opens and Sweden stands there eyebrow raised at the scene in front of him but making no motion to intervene. Eyes cold and full of fury. Norway stands up from the floor where he has dumped a significant amount of his blood and quickly but quietly leaves the very soon to be warfront. His two older brothers ignoring his existence in favor of having a staring contest before the battle Norway would have once tried to stop from happening begins.

Today was Monday.

Strike after desperate strike carves bloody lines far deeper into the Nordic country's skin than he had ever done to himself before. Yet no matter how much he tried to create enough pain to escape from everything it was now simply too much for him to run from.

Today was Monday.

Vision blurring, hands shake as Lukas leans against his bedroom wall just to stay semi-upright, blood pools dangerously around him. Tears stream down his emotionless face and he sobs even after his grip on the knife falters causing it to clang once it reaches the floor.

Today was Monday…

...And Norway was done running from the truth.


End file.
